


Case of the Mondays

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Established Relationship, Felching, Keith (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, Love Confessions, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Toys, Top Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Shiro hates Mondays. Mondays are always the worst. Between grading, teaching, and forgetting his lunch, hehatesMondays.But then Keith makes it better.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 120
Kudos: 840





	Case of the Mondays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HypotheticalWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HypotheticalWoman/gifts).



> Request fic written for @[MsHypothetical](https://twitter.com/MsHypothetical), who requested hangry Professor Shiro getting taken care of by his good boyfriend Professor Keith. (And thank you to [Janel](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813) for coming up with the idea in the first place!) 
> 
> Do I project my feelings about grammar onto Shiro in this fic? MAYBE SO. 
> 
> A huge thank you to [Christie](https://twitter.com/appetixing) for beta-reading this for me. You are a peach! ♥

Shiro hates Mondays. It’s his longest day of the week— back to back classes, labs, office hours— and he knows he should rearrange his schedule so it’s less of a hit-the-ground-running right after a weekend (as if Shiro doesn’t work on weekends), but he hasn’t yet. Somehow, Mondays can still take him by surprise.

He always leaves early and yet almost always runs late. He never has time for breakfast and convinces himself that he’ll buy something on campus despite the prices. Then he never does. Fifty percent of the time, he’ll forget to pack his lunch. 

Shiro pulls out his phone when he sits on the bus and texts Keith.

 **To Keith, sent 7:13am:** the bus splashed my new shoes today public transportation hates me

Today will especially be torture because in addition to his usual workload, he’s agreed to take Allura’s senior seminar class and that means his workday is looking to clock in somewhere around fourteen hours straight. Shiro sighs, sitting like a fool on the bus with his water-stained shoes. He already dreads the entire day and it’s barely gotten started. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket with a text from Keith. 

**To Shiro, sent 7:14am:** I know how to get stains out of leather. 

Of course he does, Shiro thinks. Because Keith is perfect and resourceful and has an endless well of knowledge and skills. Keith is perfect. 

Keith’s schedule today is much less chaotic than Shiro’s. He won’t need to come to campus to teach his classes for several hours and he’ll get to go home much earlier, too. Shiro loves his job and he’s grateful for his tenure position, but that doesn’t keep him from hating Mondays. Keith’s new to faculty this year, having transferred from an adjunct position at another university into a newly-opened tenure-track position here. Sure, Shiro doesn’t miss that administrative struggle at all, but he might catch himself feeling a little jealous on Mondays where Keith’s probably lounging in his bed and having a lazy morning. 

**To Keith, sent 7:16am:** Save me from grading 

Keith’s response is instant and definitive. 

**To Shiro, sent 7:16am:** You’re on your own there. 

He lessens the sting with a heart emoji— a rare treasure from Keith who tends to be anti-emoji in all cases— and that, at least, makes Shiro’s heart go happily squirmy in his chest. Keith is cute. Shiro’s so lucky to have him. 

Shiro reaches his office for his first hour of office hours with the deepest sigh, slumping. It’s barely the start of the day and he’s already tired. There are multiple stacks of papers waiting for him to grade and Shiro _despairs._

He loves teaching. He loves his job. But wow does he hate grading. 

Shiro looks at the clock on his office wall and sighs again, grabbing the first paper. If he focuses, he should be able to finish these by the end of the day, if he squeezes grading between his classes and if nobody shows up to his office hours (they never do; Shiro flat-out begs his students to show up sometimes and they _never do_ ). 

-

Five essays in and Shiro’s despairing even harder. 

**To Keith, sent 8:43am:** there are so many commas on these midterms just SO MANY COMMAS

Before he can give Keith a chance to respond, he sends a few more texts lamenting the misuse of semicolons. Normally he doesn’t care about grammar, and certainly he doesn’t emphasize it in his classes, because the concept of Standard Academic English is inherently classist and racist, but _why does no one actually know how to use a semicolon?_

Shiro barely understands English grammar on the best of days— if someone asked him to identify a participle he’d stare blankly, but he knows what a semicolon is! 

**To Keith, sent 8:45am:** im going to need to fail everyone clearly ive failed as a professor!!!

He has to stop grading soon to teach his 9am intro class, then after that he has his 10:45am advanced class, then after that he has the 1:30pm lab. And after _that,_ he’ll have his afternoon office hours, then subbing for Allura’s senior seminar class. 

Shiro circles the spot in a sentence where a comma should be, feeling glum. He’s a disappointment and a sham and obviously he’s failed his students into thinking he’s worth learning from. He’s ruined their futures. They don’t know what semicolons are. His poor, misguided students, led astray by Shiro’s own hubris. 

He’s going to make an announcement at the start of class and explain what semicolons are, he decides. It’ll be an easy enough task, right?

-

It is not. 

What should have been a five minute mini-explanation on semicolons turns into a full-blown lecture on the mechanics of grammar and the rhetorical purpose behind written communication versus verbal communication. He definitely fell into his Standard Academic English is Classist Rant, an old vent he’s whittled into a pointed and scathing mic-drop speech (if he says so himself) ever since he got into an argument-but-not-quite-an-argument with another tenured professor in his department. Did he end his last relationship with Professor Watson because of commas? Maybe. He’ll never tell. 

But what starts as an explanation of semicolons becomes a discussion over the rhetorical purpose of commas, which segues into a discussion of independent versus dependent clauses. Shiro’s distressed. He is working with adults, university students who are brilliant, capable, and hard-working, and they don’t know what dependent clauses are. 

Over the course of his intro-class, he despairs over the state of academia while also reminding himself that a student’s ability to identify dependent clauses does not equate to their ability to communicate. But they should still know! But it’s not their fault they don’t know! The entire system is broken! 

Shiro gets so passionate at one point that his dry-erase marker soars from his hand halfway across the room. Shiro kind of wants to cry when it happens although that’s far too intense a reaction to have over something so minor. One of his students picks it up for him and holds it out. 

Shiro gets a little shaky by the end of the hour when they haven’t even touched on the day’s lesson and Shiro’s whiteboard is covered in explanations of what parallelism is and what the difference between an em-dash and an en-dash is and why they’re better or not better than parentheses or commas. 

Shiro dismisses his class and fishes out his phone. 

**To Keith, sent 10:31am:** i am a sham 

Keith texts back within the minute even though he’s likely on his way to his 10:45 class. 

**To Shiro, sent 10:31am:** Your students love you.

Shiro smiles helplessly at the message even as it makes him blush. Keith’s confidence in Shiro’s abilities never fails to make him feel overwhelmed. Shiro’s not blind— he knows that he’s a popular professor on campus. His classes tend to always fill up and get waitlisted, and his SETs are always fairly positive, both officially and on Rate My Professor (a website he never goes on because the hot pepper score embarrasses him beyond all reason). 

**To Keith, sent 10:33am:** and that’s why im a sham for failing them so utterly

 **To Shiro, sent 10:34am:** You’re ridiculous. Get to your class already. 

Shiro gets his second heart emoji for the day and that, at least, helps soothe him. He pockets his phone, collects his materials, and books it across campus to get to his 10:45am class to set everything up. He does not launch into his semicolon rant here, but he can feel it still simmering in his gut. He’s sure his entire lesson must be off. He’s sure all his students secretly hate him and the class. Also, they secretly resent him for not handing back their papers already. He just knows it. 

-

By the time Shiro makes it to his afternoon office hours to finish grading the midterms, he’s in absolute breakdown mode. His head aches. His hands are shaky. Honestly, he’s ready to quit his job and retire in disgrace over his inability to teach young minds how to critically think. 

“How can you teach someone to critically think if you’re just _telling_ them how to do it!” Shiro cries to the ceiling. The ceiling provides no answers, although the light is starting to flicker so he’ll need to put in a maintenance request for a new fluorescent soon. The sun cheerfully streaming through the window offers him no respite or peace, because he’s the asshole who gets an office with a window when so many of his colleagues are sharing offices without windows. He doesn’t deserve this! Keith’s in an office with four other people on the other side of campus. Meanwhile, Shiro’s all alone here in his office with his window privilege. 

He pulls out his phone to text Keith just that and to outline his reasons for why he is the worst human to ever exist. 

“Whatever you’re about to type, it’s not true,” he hears Keith say and it makes Shiro startle, jerking his head up to see his boyfriend hovering in the doorway with a small smile. 

“Keith!” 

“That’s me,” Keith agrees, stepping into the room. He swings up a tote bag and sets it down on Shiro’s desk. Shiro blinks in surprise when, instead of swooping in to kiss Shiro in greeting, Keith unpacks a massive thermos and a glass container he’s brought from his apartment. 

When Keith unscrews the lid of the thermos, Shiro’s met with the perfect scent of his favorite brand of chai tea. Keith fishes out Shiro’s favorite mug from Keith’s cupboard— astronaut cats— and sets it down in front of him as he undoes the lid of the glass container. It’s ramen, freshly purchased from Shiro’s favorite noodle place across town. 

Keith grabs Shiro and hands him a spoon and some chopsticks. “Eat.” 

“Wh—”

“Eat,” Keith says again. “And then we can talk. You only have a little while before Allura’s class, right? Eat.” 

Shiro blinks at him in surprise and then ducks his head, eating. It isn’t until he actually gets the first slurp in that he realizes just how fantastically hungry he’s been all day. His stomach might actually cramp in relief at the first taste. It’s nearly four and he hasn’t eaten _anything_. Shiro absolutely wolfs the ramen down, barely looking up between swallows. He chugs down the cup of chai once it isn’t too hot to scald his tongue. 

Shiro’s not ashamed to admit that he nearly cries as he eats. 

“Oh,” he says afterwards, staring up at Keith. “I— I guess I was hungry.”

“No shit,” Keith says and then he laughs. He leans in and kisses Shiro then, a belated greeting, and it’s sweet and lovely because Keith is sweet and lovely, sitting on Shiro’s desk with his messy hair and his leather jacket. “This happens at least once a month. I’ve figured it out.” 

“What?” 

“Took me a few months,” Keith says. “But I was prepared this time.” 

Shiro blinks up at Keith in surprise. They’ve been dating for about six months now, ever since Keith showed up for new faculty orientation with his hair in a bun and his shirt untucked because he was running late. Shiro had been smitten from the start, dumping tea all down his front as Keith stepped into the room. Keith hadn’t been much better, looking cool and smoldering in Shiro’s eyes up until Keith spotted him, startled, and smashed his knee hard into one of the desks. 

“I— I didn’t realize you were paying attention,” Shiro says.

Keith snorts like the idea is laughable. He cups the back of Shiro’s head and yanks him up to kiss him again. Shiro’s office door is wide open and it’s still technically his office hours— a student could walk in any moment— but Shiro still sighs and sinks into the kiss as Keith makes it filthy, tongue lapping into his mouth. 

Keith draws back with a smile. “I always pay attention to you.” He says it so earnestly, which is what makes it all the more devastating. Shiro knows he means it. Keith shrugs. “Go teach Allura’s class and then just call it a day, okay? No more grading. Go home.” 

“Will you be there?” Shiro asks.

Keith laughs and promises, “I’ll make you dinner. So don’t keep me waiting.” 

-

In the end, it _is_ a fourteen-hour day— after his office hours and Allura’s three-hour senior seminar, Shiro has to wait another half hour for the last bus. He’s good, though. He doesn’t do any more grading, like Keith told him. 

Still, he sent a text around 6pm to tell Keith he didn’t actually have to wait for him. (Keith, of course, only said for Shiro to get home when he could. He’d be waiting. _Don’t keep me waiting long,_ he said in the text he sent back.) 

Shiro gets home at nine, his porch light already turned on to greet him in the dark. He gave Keith a key to his place about a month ago and Keith’s only used it a few times, but every time he steps into his house and sees Keith’s shoes by the door, it fills Shiro with an unspeakable warmth.

“Keith?” he calls. 

“In the kitchen!” 

Shiro finds him there— wearing one of Shiro’s hoodies and an apron and nothing else. Shiro freezes in the doorway to his kitchen, mouth falling open at the sight of Keith’s legs. God, his legs. Shiro is weak. 

Keith turns towards him with a grin, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Shiro. He probably does.

“Hey. Welcome back.” 

“Yeah, hi,” Shiro says, dragging his eyes up Keith’s body to meet his eyes. Keith looks smug. Shiro blushes. “I realize I didn’t actually thank you for the late lunch.” 

Keith laughs. “You’re welcome. It was my pleasure to keep you from quitting over commas.” 

He sets down the stirring spoon next to the pot and approaches Shiro. Shiro’s hands fall to Keith’s hips instantly, slotting into place, and he dips down to meet Keith’s mouth in a sweet, greeting kiss. 

“Hope you’re a reasonable level of hungry now,” Keith says. “I’m making curry. Should be ready soon.” 

Shiro’s hungry, but not quite for curry. Not when Keith’s standing in front of him looking so perfectly at home. His hands slide off Keith’s hips and slip beneath the hoodie. He cups Keith’s ass and squeezes. It makes Keith chirp out a shocked laugh and squirm closer. He’s always been a little weak to Shiro’s hands— the width of them on his ass, how easy it is to just hold him like this in his hands. _They’re big,_ he told Shiro once, like it was some momentous secret, his eyes sparkling. _I like it._

“ _Hey._ ” 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, ignoring Keith’s scolding tone in favor of ducking his head and pressing a kiss to Keith’s neck. “Pretty sure that’s my hoodie, mister.”

“That’s the point, yes.” Keith smooths his hands over Shiro’s shoulders, playing with the collar of his shirt. “You’ve been working all day. You should relax.”

“What if this relaxes me?” Shiro asks, pulling Keith in closer by his ass. The move presses them up flush against each other. Shiro’s hoodie is baggy enough on Keith that with the apron, it isn’t until he’s pressed against Shiro that he can even tell Keith’s hard. Shiro sucks in a sharp, surprised breath.

Keith shrugs again, thoroughly unembarrassed. “I had a feeling you’d say that.” 

“Oh?”

Keith reaches back and takes one of Shiro’s hands, guiding it to press against him more pointedly, slipping between him. Instead of meeting the gentle curve of Keith’s body, Shiro’s fingers bump against something hard. 

Shiro gasps. A plug. 

“Keith—” 

“Curry needs to simmer for a while,” Keith says casually, clearly trying to hold back his wicked smile. “If you want to relax.”

Shiro’s already backing Keith out of the kitchen and towards his couch. It makes Keith laugh, twisting them around just before they connect so that he can shove Shiro down onto it instead. Shiro bounces once just before Keith crawls up after him, bracketing him with his body and settling into his lap. It makes Shiro’s hoodie ride up his thighs, and god, his thighs. Shiro runs his palms up them, feeling him, feeling lightheaded with a different kind of hunger. 

Keith ducks his head, smiling now, his dark hair spilling forward to frame his face. And, god, he’s beautiful. Shiro’s never going to stop feeling so lucky to have him. 

“Do I— should I—” 

“Shh,” Keith murmurs, hand on Shiro’s chest. “Let me take care of you, big guy. You had a long day.” 

“But—” 

Keith kisses him then, wet and dirty, and it steals Shiro’s breath. He feels Keith squirm, undoubtedly tugging off his underwear. Shiro’s hands go to his ass again instantly, squeezing and spreading him open. It makes Keith giggle and squirm in his hands, sighing out a pleased moan when Shiro finds Keith’s cock instead, giving it a teasing squeeze. 

Keith’s never been great about teasing or taking his time. Shiro kind of loves that about him, especially now. Keith tugs and twists the plug out of himself and it comes away slick and shiny and it drives Shiro a little bit mad. 

“Stay still,” Keith says, cooing, fingers making quick work of Shiro’s belt and zip, tugging his pants down enough to free his cock. There’s a certain desperation to the way they move together like this, barely undressed, barely taking time to tease or any sort of foreplay. 

Keith palms Shiro’s cock, stroking it to full hardness, until it’s big and thick in his slim hand. Keith looks pleased, eyes dark, hair a mess at his shoulders. He shimmies forward, coming closer to Shiro. 

“Hold me open,” he says and Shiro cups his ass and spreads him as Keith strokes him off, then guides his cock back to press the ruddy head against his hole. 

The plug inside Keith was one of his larger ones. It means he sinks down right onto Shiro’s cock in one smooth, languid roll of his hips, and it’s the most beautiful thing that Shiro’s ever seen. He makes it look easy, serene and blissed out with a soft sigh as he slides down onto Shiro. And Shiro is helpless, gasping and then moaning as he watches, back arching at the perfect feeling of being inside Keith. 

Shiro’s trembling again, but not from being too hungry this time. He slides his hands up under his hoodie to touch Keith, tracing over his hips and his sides, then back down to squeeze his ass and spread him open as Keith lifts himself up and drops back down again, setting a firm but unhurried pace. 

“Fuck, Keith—” 

“Mm,” Keith hums and kisses over his jaw, rolling his hips down and taking him in deep. He makes that soft little sound in the back of his throat that Shiro loves, the one Keith makes every time Shiro rocks into him. Like he’s overwhelmed that he gets to have it. He sighs out Shiro’s name as they move. 

And it does relax Shiro. Keith finds his hands and tangles their fingers together, keeping him from touching Keith too much. It leaves Keith to be the one to move, riding Shiro purposefully, squeezing his hands whenever Shiro makes a soft whining sound. _Let me take care of you,_ Keith says with his movements, his eyes dark as they look at Shiro, and it’s quick but intimate and Shiro goes breathless, biting at Keith’s neck when he comes, sucking a bruise against his perfect skin. 

He moves without precision as he fucks into Keith, emptying inside him, feeling Keith sigh his satisfaction. He squeezes Shiro’s hands, refusing to let go even when Shiro’s instinct is to reach out and stroke Keith off in turn. Keith seems content to sit on Shiro, staying there even as Shiro starts to soften. 

“Feeling better?” Keith asks, his expression soft. “You look more relaxed.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says, embarrassed and delighted at once. Sometimes he’s sure Keith will be the death of him. 

“You looked like you needed it,” Keith says, tugging up one of Shiro’s hands to kiss his knuckles. “Mondays suck, but at least it’s over?” 

Shiro sighs, watching Keith kiss his knuckles, then the back of his hand, then turns so he can kiss at his wrist without letting go. It’s a sweet, gentle gesture and it fills Shiro with a deep, unrelenting love. 

Shiro considers Keith and then says, “Well. I’m feeling a bit hungry still.” 

“For curry?” Keith asks, twisting around. “I think the rice is ready if we want—” 

“A different kind of hunger. Maybe I want to eat out,” Shiro says. He shifts beneath Keith and uses his size to his advantage, turning them and sending Keith sprawling out on the couch, Shiro settled between his thighs. 

The position is obvious. Keith snorts as he realizes, lifting up enough to untie the apron so he can tug it away. “That is a _terrible_ joke.” 

“Don’t care,” Shiro says, finally shaking one hand free so he can push his hoodie up over Keith’s stomach, exposing his still-hard cock leaking at the tip. His hole is open and wet with lube and come now that Shiro’s slipped out of him. 

He doesn’t give Keith time to protest before he scoots down the couch and ducks so he can get his mouth on Keith. He curls his hand around Keith’s cock, stroking him off gently as he moves instead to his hole, lapping his tongue over the mess he’s made. 

Keith groans, legs shivering as he parts them, making room for Shiro. Shiro laughs as he works, dragging his tongue in a wet stripe over Keith’s skin. Keith’s hand tangles hard in Shiro’s hair, holding tight without guiding him, and Shiro sets to his task. He sucks and kisses over Keith’s hole, tongue swirling around the rim, teasing and suckling as he works himself closer. He can taste himself there and it makes him moan, that perfect mix of Keith’s trembling body and his own come leaking out of him. 

“Fuck,” Keith moans, tugging once on Shiro’s hair to coax him in deeper. “Fuck, Shiro—” 

And Shiro loves the way he sounds like this, loves having him here, loves seeing Keith in his clothes, loves him making him food because he _cares_ , because Keith wants to be a good boyfriend. 

Shiro loves him. It’s a shimmering, glowing feeling in his chest. He smiles as he laps at Keith, drinking him down, stroking his cock in time to the swipes of his tongue. Keith is bad at teasing which just means he’s laughably easy to tease. He’s already squirming and cursing Shiro out and Shiro _loves_ it. 

Once he’s cleaned Keith out, he drags his tongue in a few light swipes, sucking on his puffy hole, before he shifts away, lapping over his skin as he works his way up, mouthing at his balls and then the base of his cock. He drags his hand away to lick up from base to tip. 

Keith’s panting like he’s close— Shiro can tell as much. He’s gone boneless and pliant beneath Shiro, his eyes dark as he stares at him, demanding and resplendent, his other hand fisted tight in Shiro’s hoodie. Keith is _beautiful._

“I love you,” Shiro says, the words sighing out of him just as he sinks his mouth down onto Keith’s cock.

“You— wh— Shiro!” Keith cries out, distracted as he gasps, arching. He fucks his hips up into Shiro’s mouth, and Shiro’s waiting for him, ready to swallow him down. He smooths his hands over Keith’s thighs and bobs his head, swallowing around him.

It barely takes any time before Keith’s coming in his mouth and Shiro drinks that down, eager for it, moaning happily at the taste of him, at the perfect twitch of his perfect cock in Shiro’s mouth. 

He waits until Keith stops moving, stops rocking insistently into his mouth, cock no longer twitching against his tongue, before he draws away with a triumphant smile. 

Keith looks shell-shocked, though, laid out on the couch and staring at him. 

“Are you alright?” Shiro asks, worried that he might have pushed too far and made him too oversensitive. His hands drop to Keith’s thighs, a gentle touch easy to shrug away. 

“You— you _love_ me?” Keith asks, breathless and wide-eyed.

Shiro blinks and then his entire face turns red. For all the times over the last few months he’s thought it, he’s never actually said it out loud to Keith, never found the right moment. Going down on the guy you love is probably not the prefect moment. 

Mortification sweeps through him. He can’t even blame it on a hangry brain. “I—” He’s not going to lie, of course, but still. “Of course. I mean. Yeah. Yeah, I love you.” He bites his lip. “Sorry, I should have found a better mo—” 

Keith scrambles up from the couch and flings himself at Shiro, nearly knocking them off the furniture entirely. He kisses Shiro like he’s the one who’s unsatiated, a hunger he can’t satisfy. He kisses Shiro like he’s trying to swallow him whole. 

Shiro groans, wraps his arms around Keith, and hangs on. 

“Fuck,” Keith gasps when he yanks back from the kiss, his grin boyish and sweet, his eyes bright. “I love you, too!” 

“Really?” Shiro says just before he’s interrupted by another insistent kiss from Keith. They both moan, clinging to each other and getting lost in that feeling. 

“Yes,” Keith says once they break apart. He laughs, looking delighted. “Damn it, Shiro. Of course I do.” He kisses Shiro again, gentler. “Now go wash out your mouth and I’ll make you a bowl of curry.” 

Instead of doing that, Shiro just laughs and drags Keith back in, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. He punctuates each one with another love confession, delighting when Keith mumbles it back. 

The curry doesn’t burn, but it’s a very near thing. Keith smells it first, shoving away from Shiro to run to the kitchen and flip the stove off. Shiro watches him go, feeling moony and transcendentally happy— the rarest feeling for a Monday. 

It’s the best damn curry Shiro’s had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream)
> 
>  **ETA:** Please check out [this spicy art](https://twitter.com/AyraIsaacArt/status/1301274920291373058) Ayra drew of the boys on the couch. Delicious.


End file.
